BeachI am thirsty, overdue
to drink in the illusion of time
that tastes deceptively like
joy in a clear tall glass
ice cold, not meant
to last
in life’s heat
but surprisingly, mercilessly
able to linger enough
to multiply thirst
to increase
and I would
drink forever
except the illusion
melts in bitter sensibility
as fragile as ice
spilled on the
burning blacktop
as a sandcastle at high tide
and I pack up my
not even worth
the time it takes to
tan nicely on the beach.

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